


Chaotic Contradictions

by UmbraEmber



Series: Smutty One Shots (Ships) [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Consensual Sex, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, No Plot/Plotless, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self-Esteem Issues, Sex Club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29898057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UmbraEmber/pseuds/UmbraEmber
Summary: “Hermione wanted to fix it. Brute force adjust. Make herself better, comfortable, so she could be the woman with her head thrown back in ecstasy, exhausted from the pleasure of it all. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried before.”A shitty sex club, a single encounter, two lonely individuals with the same kink and the same hang up.(The first in my HP Smutty One Shot Collection)(This work is already uploaded as a Reader POV. I’ll be posting the works twice in the two povs for those who have a preference!)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Series: Smutty One Shots (Ships) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2198289
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	Chaotic Contradictions

“I’ve known people like you,” he said. 

That made one of them, at least, ‘cause Hermione had never met anyone like him before. She hadn’t even met  _ him _ . At least not officially. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t noticed him sitting in the club before, all black cloak and cold scowl. 

It wasn’t like she sought him out to stare. He just wasn’t like the usuals. Not like the desperate couples, there to spice up their sex lives or to trap an unwitting bisexual woman in some kind of “triad.” Or the usual men who thought they could find some kinky girlfriend to take out of the club setting and fuck forever as an obedient little slut. Fuck that. The thought was usually enough to make Hermione grin at their stupidity. How could they think she could be trapped at all? But she couldn’t grin now. Not when this man sat on the sofa across from her and pierced her with his gaze. He wasn’t an idiot. Men like him weren’t supposed to be in a place like this. Not clean shaven, older men in expensive robes. They only came if they were married and there wasn’t a ring on his finger, not even the indent of one removed. It wasn’t exactly the club with the best reputation and that was exactly why she liked it. Everyone else there was a nobody. Invisible, horny ghosts. People she didn’t have to worry about impressing. 

“People like me?” She asked, even though she didn’t want to. She felt compelled to. An insatiable curiosity had been sparked. She wanted to know more about this stranger who seemed to know so much. To know what he thought of her. And it was edged in the irritation she felt that he would begin by comparing her to anyone else. Reduce her down to her similarity to other women he had known.

“Perfectionist.” He said it like it was the total answer. Just that one word. And leaned back, folding his angular arms. His black hair slipped in front of his eyes and Hermione wanted to lean across and tuck it behind his hair. It shined silver in the low-light. “Is that why?”

“Why what?” She hated that he was holding the control in the conversation. Dictating the way it flowed while she was left scrambling to catch up. She hadn’t even had a chance to defend against the perfectionist accusation. But then, she wasn’t even sure if he meant it like an accusation. There was no malice in his cold gaze. Just detachment.

He gestured to the couple in the corner, the ghost of a grin forming on his angular face. The couple was nearing the end of their evening, the man on his knees, his face between his partner’s thighs. They were the kind of people who should be in a shitty club like this. Young, inexperienced, unaware of the much better club on the other side of town. Here with eyes only for each other as some kind of kinky game between the two of them. The kind of people Hermione would be able to resent. And thus the kind of people who feel safe. The woman had her head thrown back in ecstasy and Hermione wondered if it wasn’t exhausting being pleasured that hard. 

“ _ She’s _ getting eaten out because I’m a perfectionist?” She didn’t try to hide the snarkiness that had seeped its way into her voice. This man was annoying, she decided. Because of the way he had introduced himself, by refusing to introduce himself. Because he was clutching the conversation in his tight, angular hands seemingly without any effort. And because even though she hated to admit it, he looked at her as though he could see right through her. Perfectionist? It’s not far off. 

“It’s why you watch and never participate.”

Something like cold fear spiked down her stomach. “I participate. I get fucked.” She said it like it was a badge of honor. Like he would be impressed at how casually she could spit it out. They were in a sex club, for fuck’s sake, she scolded herself, even if it was a shitty one. Getting fucked was mostly the whole point. 

“But not that.” And again his eyes flickered to the couple and she saw arousal drench his face. And that small part of her (okay, large part of her) that was competitive, felt irritated by how the woman in the corner could get eaten out by one man while arousing the next. She couldn’t even get eaten out, at all. 

“Is there something wrong with not wanting a man to shove his tongue in my cunt?” 

“No.”

It’s all he said. And she was beyond irritated with him. But luckily he fell silent. He watched the couple with a cold intensity. With an almost seriousness. His sharp hand twitched over his robe but he didn’t pull his cock out. She was almost a little disappointed that he didn’t. It felt like he had seen into the most sacred parts of herself and he didn’t even have the decency to let her see his dick.

She received a full view of the other man’s cock as it swung between his thighs. He finished up with his partner. Handed a shirt over to her. Hermione had been so distracted listening to  _ him _ that she had missed the grand finale. She had missed watching the other woman come under her partner’s tongue. The couple pulled their dirty clothes over their sweating bodies and avoided Hermione’s eyes as they left. Cowards. She sighed. The thrum of pleasure was still there, the burning warmth, but now it was mingled with feelings of frustration and annoyance.

He turned back to her. “But you do want it.”

Her breath caught in her throat and she tried to steady herself. He said it with certainty. Like he was pointing out Hermione’s blue shirt or tight shorts. Like he was telling her his name or age. She  _ wanted _ to get eaten out. He didn’t move closer, to her surprise. Her guard was down, now. He had fucked her up with such simple observations and any other man might have taken the opportunity to shove their tongue down her throat. He didn’t even move. The twitching in his hand had settled as the couple left the room. 

“If I wanted to get eaten out, I would. And what does that have to do with me being a ‘perfectionist,’ anyway?” She felt a little better. She was the one dictating the flow of conversation. Brought it back to his earlier point. If this had been another man, he would be on the offensive already. She would have wrangled the conversation from his grip and tossed it back, neck snapped.

He wasn’t any other man. Another ghost of a smile pressed across his face. Actually, she noted, this one was more like a smirk. 

“You can’t let your guard down, can you? Can’t relinquish control? Can’t be vulnerable?” His voice lingered on every syllable. Said vulnerable like it was three separate words. Like he didn’t want to give the word up for her, not easily. It had a devastating effect. The slowness. The intentionality. The heat grew.

“What is this? A therapy session? Who cares the why?”

“I do.” And then, with a more sarcastic tilt to his tone, his lips formed around the word. “Ob-vi-ous-ly.” 

“Yeah? ‘Cause you’re a pervert with some kind of oral kink.”

He only shrugged his sharp shoulders, dark eyes remaining fixed on her own.

“If that’s the case,” she continued, heat growing in her face and down her neck, “you’re talking to the wrong girl.”

“But you’re not a girl. You’re a woman.”

“Obviously,” she mimicked, “but if this is just turning into a game of semantics, count me out.” 

“You’re free to walk out of here any time.” He gestured to the open door nestled between the large murky windows in a sweeping motion as though driving his point home.

Hermione stayed rooted to her chair. “I was here first.” She knew how you sounded. Childish. Immature. Petty. Whatever. She didn’t care. It was true. He was the one that slunk into the room and joined her in watching the couple. “And you’re the pervert.”

He laughed at this. A cool, low laugh that didn’t reach his dark eyes. “We’re both at this shitty sex club, darling.” Again with dragging his words out. Like he just couldn’t give them up. Didn’t want to drop them hard into the stuffy air. Like he wanted to pull them slowly from his mouth. To allow them to pour from him like liquid gold. Roll over her thighs like warm water, drench down her back.

“And why are you here anyway?” She asked, the petulant tinge still evident in her voice. “Aren’t you at the age where you should have a nice wife somewhere baking you a shepherds’ pie and ironing your seemingly endless supply of black robes?”

“If I had a wife at home, I wouldn’t be here.” He gritted those words out. Still slow but they didn’t have the gold quality of his other ones. There was something there. Regret or resentment. Something sharp and cold. “And wouldn’t that be a shame?”

“For you. But you didn’t answer why you’re here.”

“Usually I don’t like the get attached to who I fuck.” It was the one word he allowed to drop like dead weight into the room. The one word he didn’t pull out slow. Fuck. She wanted to hear him say it again. “I like it clean. No emotions. No complications. No mess.”

“Usually?”

“Yes. Usually.” He paused. There wasn’t uncertainty there. Like he just wanted to leave her stewing in suspense. She glared at him and he smiled. “There appears to be an exception. I haven’t fucked you yet and I’m already attached.”

She hated how much those simple sentences turned her on. She ignored the urge to grind into the sofa. “What? Why?”

“I find you curious,” he admitted. “Fascinating.”

“I’m not someone for you to study.”

“No?” There was an unusual playfulness brimming at the surface of his dark eyes. Like he was laughing at Hermione. Like he didn’t know how to have fun unless it was at someone else's expense. “But hopefully you’re someone I can fuck.”

“You did say yet. And I didn’t object.” It was permission, in a way. A way to put down her barbed comebacks and settle into an agreement. A way to get him to fuck her without conceeding. 

He reached out a cool hand and set it softly on Hermione’s leg. Her eyelids fluttered. And then he was stroking up her thigh, slow and gentle and she needed him to get there faster. He reached her shorts and she was ready for him to throw her clothes to the floor, ready for him to fuck her sore. His tall, slender body leaned over her. 

“No oral,” she said with her eyes closed. And his hand retreated.

Her eyes flashed open. “Really?” She snapped. “You’re so atttached to your kink you won’t fuck without it?”

“I won’t fuck someone who doesn’t allow themselves to feel pleasure,” he said with a lightness. A kindness. He didn’t want to offend her. That was the first time since he had started speaking to her, she thought. “It wouldn’t matter to me. It wouldn’t matter if you didn’t want it so bad. If you weren’t begging for it.” His fingers teased the hem of her shorts. “Needing it.”

“I don’t need it.” 

“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you watching a woman getting eaten out.”

“You’ve been watching me?”

“I said I find you fascinating.”

“Okay. I do.” Whether it was because of his disarming compliment, his sudden sweetness, or because he had pushed her to the point of communication through endless frustration, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps a combination of it all. “Is that what you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell the truth.” His hand rose to her shirt and teased along her hips, revealing the soft skin there. “I want you to be honest.” 

She squeezed her eyes shut again as his long fingers traveled under her shirt and up to her breast. Her skin prickles and her nipples harden at his sensual, slow movements. “I do want to get eaten out. You’re right, I do. But I just can’t.” 

“Can’t?” He asked as he began to massage her breast. “Or won’t allow yourself to?”

“I’m just not comfortable with it.”

“And that’s okay,” he murmured as he leaned in closer and left kisses along her shoulder. “If you’re not comfortable with it, that’s okay. I just want you to be sure. I want you to be conscious of it. This,” he paused as though delicate words didn’t come easy to him, “hang up of yours. It’s alright if you can own it. If you’re aware of it.” He pressed kisses into her neck and his silky hair brushed against her cheek, whispering into her ear. “If you’re okay with it. Are you okay with it?”

No, she wanted to scream. No, she wasn’t. Hermione wanted to fix it. Brute force adjust. Make herself better, comfortable, so she could be the woman with her head thrown back in ecstasy, exhausted from the pleasure of it all. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried before. But by the time someone’s lips touched her cunt, she pushed them away. Once she even kicked the poor fucker in the shoulder. 

“Are you?” He asked again, shifting so that he was almost on top of her, his hands warm on her body. “Or do you want me to suck and lick and fuck your cunt with my mouth?”

He pressed his mouth against hers after he asked, as though he wanted to prove his prowess, his ability. Kissed her deeply, his hand cupping her face, his other still working luxuriously slowly at her breasts.

“I do,” she gasped, clutching his robes in tight fists. “I do want that. But I can’t. Trust me.” She almost laughed at the absurdity of it. “The minute you get down there, you’d understand.” She moaned into his mouth. “It’s not my fault. It’s just my body. It’s just a fucking traitor.”

“You can’t control everything,” he murmured. “You can’t control how you feel.”

“But I want that, too. I want to be...perfect.”

“You already are. Perfectly imperfect. Chaotic and unexplainable and unpredictable. A perfect contradiction.”

“Is that why you’re fascinated with me?” 

“One of the many reasons.” He stripped her shirt over her head, exposing her chest, and his eyes glinted with desire as they took her in, all of her. He leaned down and kissed each of them in turn. “There are many, many reasons.”

“Want to tell me them?” She grinned and he gently bit her nipple in response.

“Now, now,” he warned. “I’ve already been too kind.” 

And then he sucked on it and she was arching her back into his touch. 

“Don’t stop,” she groaned. 

His hand unbuttoned her shorts and snaked inside, pressing against her damp knickers, slipping past them. His slender fingers pressed against her lips and began to rub in hard circles. 

“I want to taste you. I need to.”

She nodded. She didn’t know why. Maybe because she had warned him and he hadn’t run out shaking his head, because he hadn’t treated her like she was insane, like she was broken. Because his hands were down her shorts and she was already feeling weak. Already ready to crumble under him. 

“Say it, you have to say it. You have to want it.”

“I do. I want it. I want you to taste me. Suck and lick and all that shit you said earlier. I want you to do that to me as I come around you.” 

She didn’t say it but she knew it wasn’t going to happen. She wanted it but it was impossible. She wouldn’t be able to allow it. He slipped the shorts down over her hips and thighs. His hands were gentle on her skin, caressing, as he pulled them down her calves. Her knickers followed and she watched with fascination as they disappeared into his robes. 

“Don’t want to ask in case I want those back?” She wasn’t sure if she should’ve commented at all. Or if she should’ve just let the wetness gather between her thighs at the idea of him wanting to keep part of this moment forever. 

“Collateral,” he explained, his lips upturned. “You’ll have to see me again if you want them back. And they are a nice pair so I’m sure you will.” 

“Or you can just keep them,” she said, breathless, heavy with need. “I honestly don’t give a fuck right now. Just touch me.”

He obeyed, pressing feather-light kisses against her knee, her calf. His tongue slips out and he tastes the sweat that ran down her skin. 

“I’m going to kiss your cunt,” he said. It was almost a demand, almost a request. Almost but not quite. There was still space there for her to refuse. 

She nodded, again. He continued kissing along her leg, up her thigh, at her hips. He looked up at her, his eyes dark, his lips wet. And he pried her legs open with his strong, cold hands. His eyes stayed on hers as he leaned down and those wet lips touched against her. She bucked up, her knees fought to close, and she squeezed your eyes shut.

“I can’t—” she cried. Her hands were fists, her nails leaving half-moon sickles in her palms. “I just can’t.”

“You don’t need to,” he said. “Let go. You don’t need to be in control. Let me.” 

And somehow it helped. Somehow it felt less like losing control when she passed it over to him. There was a trust there. She knew he could handle the power she was giving him. And it was just a kiss. Just a soft, sweet kiss against her cunt. He followed it with another, and another. And then it was as though he was making out with her. His tongue slipped out and grazed her lips as his own worked against her flesh. Just kisses, she thought. He was just kissing you. He groaned and she bucked her hips up again at the sound. His clean shaven chin pressed against her entrance as he left a final deep kiss and pulled back. 

“You taste so good,” he said. He wiped across his lips with a bony knuckle. Even that movement looked graceful when he did it and Hermione wanted to kiss him messy, ruin his straight black hair, fuck him until he was shaking and there was no grace left. “You taste so fucking good.” 

She grabbed his wrist and pulled that finger close to her lips. She smiled before she popped it into her mouth, sucked it down all the way to the knuckle. Hollowed out her cheeks. Taste herself on him. His eyes closed and pleasure ripped across his face. 

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Don’t.” 

“I want to taste myself,” she begged, dropping his wrist to grab hold of his chin and pull him up, “let me taste myself on you.” 

She smelled the sweetness before she made contact. Her taste was all over his lips, his chin, his cheeks. And it really did become all kissing as he leaned back over her. He was still robed and she realized how unfair it was as she lay beneath him naked and his hand found her clit again. She still hadn’t seen his damned cock. 

“Undress,” she demanded. 

“Will that help you come?” He asked with an almost cheeky lightness. “Don’t you want me to keep doing this?” And then he made a delicious movement with his fingers against her wet clit.

“Fucking— undress,” she managed to get out in between shaking breaths. “Fuck. Don’t test me.”

He obeyed and stripped his robe off. He was wearing a tight black shirt and black trousers underneath. And he was hard. His length was tight against the fabric of his trousers. Hermione couldn’t help her smile. Not bad. He smiled back sharply and pulled his shirt over his narrow shoulders. Underneath, his torso was as slender as his hands. Short black hair curled down to his trousers, dusted his chest. Veins raced up his forearms and disappeared into surprisingly round muscles. 

“So? Do you approve?”

She could only nod. Those long fingers she was now familiar with worked his belt but there was a tremor to them. His eyes connected with hers and she could see something there. A vulnerability. 

“Come here,” she whispered. He moved closer, his knees knocking against her own. And then she unzipped his trousers and took a firm hold to pull them over his narrow hips. He couldn’t help but adjust himself as she exposed his long, hard length. “Impressive.” There was a highness to her voice. A reverence that even she could hear. 

“No,” he said, stopping her hand as it wrapped around him. “I’m not finished with you, yet.” 

He kneeled back at her feet and began the slow process of leaving kisses on her calves, her knees, her thighs. She grabbed the back of his head, threading silken black hair through her fingers, and pushed him hard against her cunt. She needed more. She thought she was ready. 

“Suck my clit, lover boy.” 

Again, he obeyed. He obeyed over and over again. She remembered his words. He was going to suck and lick and fuck her with his mouth. With expert precision, a musician’s rhythm, a potion master’s obsession, he did. His tongue circled her clit. He sucked it lightly. His thumbs rubbed in circles against her thighs. She had thought she was ready. She could feel it building. That familiar pressure. A pressure usually under her command. It was getting out of hand. Her body made movements she wasn’t even aware of. Her hands found his hair and she didn’t remember how or when. She could hear herself moaning. She wasn’t ready. 

“Stop.”

He did. Immediately. Her lips hadn’t finished with the word before he pulled back to rest his chin on her knee. His severe face stared up at her. It was an almost absurd pose. Something more fitting for someone with soft, large, pleading features. There was nothing pleading in his look. Even then, he was in control. Stern and steady. 

“Get up,” she commanded. 

And he rose, gracefully, and cupped her chin. She tilted up to meet his kiss and tasted herself on his lips, again. He was covered in her. His wet face was impassive. His gaze straight and unwavering. She knew her new goal. She wanted him to shatter. To lose every last shard of control. And with clarity she understood. That was exactly what he wanted from her too. 

She slipped her hands over his hips and around to his firm, smooth ass. She squeezed the way he had been massaging her breasts. He buckled forward and dropped her chin.

“What are you doing?”

“I won’t fuck someone who doesn’t allow themselves to feel pleasure,” she said, pleased with herself for remembering his words. “Now let me taste  _ you _ for a change.”

She pressed her lips tight against her teeth and wet them. There was that nervousness to his eyes again. A hesitation. A fear. She slid her hands over his hips and then grabbed his length. He pulled back slightly. 

“Hypocrite,” Hermione muttered against the tip of his cock before she pressed a soft kiss to it. He groaned immediately, his hands coming up to grip at her hair. “Now, I want you to say it. Say you want me to suck you.”

“I want it,” he groaned, gripping her hair harder, “I need it.”

She mimicked his actions. Millions of small, sweet kisses against his head, down his shaft, tongue sneaking out to taste him, moans catching in the back of her throat. She opened and pulled him into her mouth. Sucked hard. Bobbed her head up and down. Released him with a pop and returned to the millions of gentle kisses. She was about to slip him back in when he pulled her hair and tilted her head up to look at his face. It was twisting. Contorting in pleasure. A spike of victory ran through her. 

“Stop,” he ground out. 

And she did. Immediately. Just as he had. 

“I’ll come all over your pretty face if you carry on,” he said as a way of explanation, and then a bony hand pressed on her shoulder, pushed her down against the back of the sofa, the other hand at her thigh, pushed her legs apart, and then he lined up at her entrance. 

“I’m going to fuck you, now,” he said. Again a mixture of a command and a declaration. Room for disagreement. He waited there, the head of his cock brushing against her wet lips. Impossible restraint. A twitch in his neck. And she knew he’d wait there forever, wait for her to give him permission. 

She grabbed hold of his ass again and pulled him into her. He slid in easily. Smooth. Filled her up. It felt right. She was sensitive and everything was burning heat and it felt right. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, his forehead hitting against hers. Sweat already slipping down his temples. “You feel better than I could’ve—”

She didn’t feel in control anymore. But then, neither was he. The two of them were both falling into each other. She had relinquished control, allowed her body to react imperfectly. Allowed it to react at all. Pressed against him as he slid in and out. Torturously slow. 

“Fuck me hard. Harder.”

“Patience. Be patient.” 

How his words still sounded like liquid gold even when he was breathless, even as he thrust his entire length into her, Hermione had no idea. She could fall into a battle with him. Demand him to speed up and to pound her hard, wrap her legs around his waist and set the speed. Take over as he begs to extend the moment, as he tries to savor every thrust. But she was past that now. She didn’t need to control this. She didn’t need it to be perfect. It kind of already was. Perfectly imperfect. Chaotic and unexplainable and unpredictable. A perfect contradiction. Hard and soft. A stranger who knew her better than anyone else. A fuck that was slow and fast. A sloppy mess, a beautiful delight. Awkward and uncoordinated and purposeful and graceful. He groaned into her ear and she wasn’t sure where his breath, his noises, his skin ended and where hers began. His hand back back at her chest, squeezing in time with his thrusts. 

She was going to come. She was. It wasn’t even a question of allowing it to happen anymore. It was an inevitability. The fall after the leap. She crashed down, coming around him. Pulsing. Writhing. Practically vibrating. And he thrust harder and faster against it. Pound into her. Past the point of self-control. Pushed past all his careful and graceful movements. He was unrestrained, neck tight and muscles flexed. 

“How?” He asked in disbelief. “How do you feel so good?” 

And then he emptied into her with a cry. 

There was an intimacy to this that Hermione didn’t normally find at the club. A closeness as his head dropped to her chest and she cradled him there. He rested for a moment, catching his breath, his cock twitching inside her, softening. She stroked his silk hair behind his ear as her breath returned to her. 

“I’m not done.” He lifted his head. There was a challenge to his eyes. “I had a mission tonight. And I intend to complete it.”

“You don’t have to,” she protested weakly. 

“I want to. It’s all I’ve wanted since I first saw you. Since I saw you with your hand down those tiny shorts, since I saw the way your face looks when you come.” He brushed her red cheek. “That beautiful flush. I needed it. To own it. Control it. Summon it. I’m going to make you come. The way you need it.”

He dropped to the floor on his knees. 

“I have come,” she said, as though he was unaware. “I did.”

“But not like this.”

She was more sensitive now she had already come. There was a throbbing that wasn’t there before. He licked his own cum from between her lips. Didn’t seem to mind the way it dripped out of her. Pressed his tongue against her clit. And she let him. She accepted how much she liked it. Allowed it. Her body was all reaction. She was unaware of her hands gripping his shoulders, unaware of the way her toes curled, the way she was chanting fuck over and over and banging her head against the back of the sofa. And when she came, when she came hard against his lips, against his tongue, sweat dripping down her calves, down her back, when she shattered into him and around him, when she came entirely undone, she felt only satisfied. 

It was almost gentle, like his touch. The same warm wash over her back and thighs as his golden voice. Sweet. Soft. Part of that contradiction. It was intense in its softness. Hard in its sweetness. She was shaking silently. Thighs clenched. He pressed his lips harder, sucked, and slipped his tongue between her lips. Licked up and down her and then twirled his tongue around her clit. Deliciously. Fast. Hard. The way she demanded. And she came again. And this time there was nothing soft about it. This time it was all electricity. Almost painful. No, it was painful. It hurt to come again under him and she liked how it hurt. She liked how her cunt throbbed and pulsed and squeezed. 

“How?” She asked as she fell back against the sofa. ‘How do you—” she couldn’t finish the question. It didn’t seem to matter anymore as a hazy post-bliss feeling descended over her entire, spent body. 

He lifted himself and rolled next to her, his hand trailing along her chest and stomach. 

“Perfect,” he murmured. “You are perfect.”

And she knew exactly what he meant. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! I figured this might be a neat way to please both those who like reader POV and those who prefer ships without OCs. 
> 
> I’ll try to balance them and keep the characters, ya know, in character for the third person version. 
> 
> If you prefer reader pov please check out the other series! If you prefer third person, then you’re in the right place! 
> 
> Please let me know any errors in tense or voice ‘cause going through was a bit of a task and I might’ve missed something!! I appreciate it, thank you! 
> 
> And thank you for stopping by. I hope you have a brilliant night/day.


End file.
